Part 12

Cassy was quick to cut off her captain's bout of self-blame. "Harry, you know better than that. You said you investigated even though you didn't believe him. What more could you have done? And what does that have to do with the kids?"

Harry still wasn't able to look her in the eye, but he continued the story. "I should have tried harder. If I had, Jack Stein might still be alive. They lived with a grandmother until she got sick. Jack was eighteen, but the sister had to go into the system. Seems a month after the sister went into foster care, the kid reported the foster father for sexual abuse against his sister. Jack was a real hothead, just like his old man. He made threats against the man to the social worker. They started an investigation, but the boy got impatient. Two days after filing the report, he confronted the guy. Jack started a fight and things got out of hand. The kid bashed the guy's skull in with a loose brick from the walkway. He was sent to prison for manslaughter. Once he got to prison, he was constantly getting into fights. About six months into his sentence, another inmate stabbed him to death. The sister had a complete breakdown. Got into drugs and then prostitution to support her habit. She hasn't been seen or heard from since she left rehab two years ago." Harry's voice softened to a whisper. "If only I had found about Keller, those kids wouldn't have had to go through that."

Cassy went over to Harry. Putting her hand on Harry's arm, she tried to reason with him. "If the kid had that bad a temper, he was bound to wind up in trouble eventually. And there's nothing to say that the girl wouldn't have eventually turned to drugs, either. Lots of kids from really good families have ended up in that situation. It's-not-your-fault! You have to snap out of this. We have to concentrate on finding Tom. Now that we know the who and the why, what are we going to do about getting my partner back?" she demanded.

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Tom lay bound to the cot waiting for George Stein to return. The burning in his shoulder hadn't dissipated, instead seeming to spread down and across his back. His head still pounded and his jaw still ached, which made it difficult to concentrate. George had promised him answers, but Tom's mind was filled with more questions now than before. Stein had told quite a tale so far. The problem was that Tom wasn't certain how much of it, if any, to believe. Had Stein really been a cop? Had he really been framed for killing his wife? What the hell did any of this have to do with Stein's son or his bizarre insistence that Tom was Harry's son? How much of his story was conveniently twisted to fit his version of reality?

A short time later, the door opened again. George came back and settled into the chair. "Are we ready to resume our discussion?" Tom again only nodded. "Good. Where were we? Oh right. My prison sentence. My lawyers filed an appeal, and my kids went to live with my wife's mother, their only living relative. My daughter was twelve and my son was fifteen. The kids had always been close to their grandmother, and they settled in without a lot of trouble. The next three years passed in a flash. My daughter, Jennifer, was set to go to a performing arts school to study ballet. My son, Jack, was a senior in high school with baseball scouts knocking down the door. They all said he was going to the Major Leagues.

About halfway through the school year, Grandma had a massive stroke. My son, being eighteen, chose to stay with a close friend from school. My daughter, who was only fifteen, was forced into foster care." George got up and began pacing as he continued the story. "Jack went to visit Jennifer every chance he got. About a month had passed when Jack began to notice a change in Jennifer. She'd become quiet and withdrawn. Not at all like her usual self. Jack finally got her to tell him what was bothering her. Or should I say who was bothering her. The son-of-a-bitch foster father had been coming into her room at night. He'd tied her wrists and ankles to the bed to keep her from fighting him. When my son tried to report the animal, they promised to investigate. Two weeks passed. No one ever came to talk to my daughter. And they wouldn't place her in another home. So my son had no other choice but to handle it himself. He went over to confront the son-of-a-bitch. They fought. The animal wound up dead after hitting his head on the edge of the concrete porch. My son was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison. All for doing the state's job, trying to protect his sister."

Stein stopped his pacing and stood behind the chair. His hands rested on the back in a white-knuckled grip. His face had twisted into a barely controlled rage. His voice, dispassionate up to this point, took on the same rage as his face. "Do you know what happens to a naïve nineteen-year-old in prison? Especially a good-looking athlete, like my boy?"

Tom closed his eyes and shuddered, well aware what had probably happened. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry..."

George was around the chair and grabbing Tom by the throat before the startled detective could finish his sentence. "Don't! I don't want your pity!" He relaxed his hold on the detective and continued in an icy tone. "But you will be sorry. You're going to pay for every moment of pain that my son endured in that hellhole. Then you're going to die, just like he did."

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Tom shifted on the cot, trying to find a position that would ease the fire in his shoulder. George had moved back into the chair, attempting to calm himself after his latest outburst. When he finally spoke, the icy tone remained. "You now know how your father destroyed my family. This brings us to the terms of your imprisonment. You have been sentenced to death as punishment for your father's crime. You will have the basic rights of a prisoner. This includes food, water, necessities for personal hygiene, and medical care for your injuries. Any further attempts to escape will be dealt with harshly. In addition to physical punishment, all of your rights will be considered forfeited. Do you understand these rights? Are there any questions before we proceed?"

"Yeah, sure, I understand them. Gee, don't I even get a phone call?" Tom meant the question to be sarcastic, but George seemed to be seriously considering the request.

"Hmm. A phone call. That could prove to be interesting, very interesting. Yes. I think that could be arranged. Of course, you realize that all calls will be monitored. Yes, I will see what I can do."

Tom said nothing in return, too stunned to respond. George appeared not to notice and quickly moved on to the next topic. His next words sent waves of fear coursing through the captive. "All new prisoners are required to have a thorough medical examination. Dr. Leonard will take care of this immediately. While he is performing his exam, I will see what I can do about the phone situation." George rose from the chair and went in search of the doctor, leaving Tom alone to contemplate the pending examination.

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Cassy sat at her desk, her chin resting in her hand. She felt drained after spending the past hour on the phone with Tom's parents relating the tale of Tom's captor. It had taken a lot of convincing on her part to get them to hold off on coming to Palm Beach for a little while longer. Though they now knew who had him and why, they were still a long way from finding Tom. She'd had roughly the same conversation with Frannie moments before talking to the Ryans. Though the mystery of the missing repairman had been solved, they hadn't as yet been able to determine how those envelopes had managed to appear on Harry's desk. With a renewed sense of determination, she turned her attention to the file Harry's friend had faxed from New York. As she began to sift through the information, she made a silent promise to her missing partner and best friend. 'I'm going to find you if it's the last thing I ever do, Thomas. Hang in there, Partner. Just hang in there a little longer.'

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Tom's fear intensified along with his physical discomfort at the sound of the door opening. Dr. Leonard strode over to the prisoner, placing his medical bag on the chair. He sat carefully on the edge of the cot and spoke for the first time since Tom's attempted escape. "I'm not like Georgie, you know. I don't want to hurt you. Please don't do anything to make me hurt you." Tom tried to calm his increasing panic, but the doctor's tone of voice made it impossible. He decided the best course of action was to remain silent for the moment, and waited for the doctor's next move.

Dr. Leonard began the exam by checking Tom's head and facial injuries. After he finished, he paused a moment, then ran his fingers along Tom's injured jaw in a gentle caress. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop him from doing this to you." As Tom turned his head away, the doctor gently chided him. "Don't turn away from me. I can't see your eyes. Has any one ever told you have really beautiful eyes? The eyes are the windows to the soul, you know. I think you must have a very beautiful soul." Tom ignored the doctor's words, but the doctor didn't seem to be phased by it. "Are we ready to proceed? We need to get rid of this nasty, dirty shirt. We wouldn't want to risk infection, now would we?" With that the doctor cut away the bloodstained tank top, tossing it on the chair next to his bag. Tom kept his eyes tightly shut and pulled at the handcuffs restraining his wrists as Dr. Leonard's hands began to explore his chest and abdomen. Bile rose in his throat as the doctor's hands lingered on his chest. Ignoring the detective's struggling, he continued the so-called exam. "You really do have a magnificent physique. Absolutely magnificent. I'm really going to enjoy caring for you."

When Tom felt Dr. Leonard's hands move to the waistband of his shorts, he struggled harder against the restraints. Finding his voice, he cried out, "Stop it! Don't you touch..." The doctor's hand firmly and painfully clamped over Tom's mouth, cutting off his words.

The venom in his voice was chilling. "Don't make me hurt you! I told you, I don't want to hurt you. Why can't you understand that?" As suddenly as it appeared, the man's anger vanished. Looking like he might cry, the doctor began to whimper. "Please, Tommy, don't make me hurt you. I really, really don't want to hurt you. Please! Don't fight me!" He slowly removed his hand from Tom's mouth and returned his attention to the shorts.

Tom intensified his struggle against the bonds and again cried out. "No! Don't! Stop it!"

The doctor's anger once again surfaced. "Silence! There will be no further talking during this exam! No-more-talking!" He reached for the discarded tank top and roughly forced it into his prisoner's mouth. Spots danced in front of Tom's eyes at the searing agony of having his injured jaw forced open. "Now just lie here and be quiet like a good little patient. It will all be over soon. I promise it won't hurt at all. I just want to take care of you," he crooned.

The shorts were soon down at Tom's ankles. Hands roamed up Tom's legs to caress his thighs. Tom screamed through the gag and continued to struggle, but Dr. Leonard didn't seem to notice. "You have such an incredible body. You know, not all athletes have such wonderful bodies. You're very special. Yes, very, very special."

He continued to struggle in vain against his bonds. As Dr. Leonard's hands moved to thoroughly explore the man's most private area, tears leaked from Tom's eyes. Tom repeated his prayer over and over. 'God, please make him stop! Please!'

It seemed an eternity had passed before Dr. Leonard ceased his groping and finally returned the shorts to their place. He gingerly pulled the gag out and returned it to the chair. His voice was almost child-like when he spoke. "I'm so sorry, Tommy. You should have stayed quiet. I really didn't want to have to hurt you. Why did you have to make me hurt you?"

End Part 12

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